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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916811">Warmed by the Sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackaley/pseuds/Mackaley'>Mackaley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Come Marking, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Light Humiliation, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Urination, Watersports, Wet &amp; Messy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:14:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackaley/pseuds/Mackaley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The way the statement hits Crowley’s brain stops his pain briefly anyway, as if the idea has caused him to be so dumbstruck it’s stopped all neural flow in its tracks. Eventually he comes back online and realizes he’s just been gaping at Aziraphale for the past couple of seconds.</p><p>“You want to piss on me.”</p><p>“<i>Urinate</i>, and it’s not a matter of want, it’s a matter of need.” </p><p>Crowley <i>does</i> laugh at that one. “Oh, all right. Sorry, you <i>need</i> to piss on me, got it.”</p><p>-----</p><p>Crowley gets stung by a jellyfish and it goes exactly where you think it will.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>196</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Warmed by the Sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't know, sometimes your friends joke about one of these two getting peed on because they got stung by a jellyfish and then you say "haha, I'll add it to my list" but then you actually write it. Thanks to everyone for the ridiculous amount of stupid fucking brainstorming that went into this. Extra special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock">summerofspock</a> for the concept of "piss as an act of service" and to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortifyingideal/pseuds/mortifyingideal">mortifyingideal</a> for looking it over and being very encouraging in all the best/worst ways. </p><p>Peeing on a jellyfish sting doesn't actually work, but don't tell these two that. </p><p>Title is from "Simple Song" by The Shins, so sorry to The Shins and also myself because I love that song and I'm gonna think about piss every time I listen to it now.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It starts, as most things that come back to bite Crowley in the arse do, with a joint idea.</p><p>Crowley had whined that he was bored, and Aziraphale admitted that he could do with a change in scenery. But then they’d argued about <i>where</i> exactly they should go, how far they were willing to travel, and also Aziraphale wanted to sit somewhere and finish the novel he was reading so he immediately shot down any idea of activities that involved his participation.</p><p>It’d been nearly an hour of roundabout bickering before Crowley had gritted out “One day I'm going to shove you off a big fuck-off cliff into the ocean” in a moment of, admittedly, crazed frustration and Aziraphale retorted “Not if I drown you first” before they both paused and considered that the beach might be nice. </p><p>Which is how Crowley finds himself driving to fucking Rottingdean of all places in mid-October.</p><p>They make their way down to the beachfront, and Aziraphale sets up a chair, nearly blending into the beige cliff face as he settles in with his book and miraculously warms his little spot of the seaside before waving Crowley away. Crowley shoves his hands in his coat pockets and meanders off towards the rock pools. </p><p>The chill in the air is bracing this close to the sea, but Crowley closes his eyes and breathes it in deeply, the salt spray refreshing and cleansing his lungs of London. He stands at the edge of the shore, and after several minutes of furious squinting to determine if that helps him see France across the miles and miles of channel before giving it up as impossible this far west, he pulls his hair back into a messy ponytail, rolls his jeans up to his knees, and toes off his boots. </p><p>He leaps onto a big rock in the middle of the rock pool and yelps at the first touch of freezing algae beneath his feet, waving his arms so he doesn’t slip on the slick surface and fall into the water. Aziraphale’s deep laugh floats through the air, and Crowley turns to scowl at him. </p><p>“Are you all right?” Aziraphale calls. </p><p>“Fucking peachy!” he yells back. Aziraphale’s shoulders shake with mirth, and he can see the angel’s broad grin from here. </p><p>“Don’t actually drown, darling, I was kidding earlier.” Aziraphale turns back to his book, and Crowley steps gingerly onto another rock.</p><p>Crowley’s never loved huge bodies of water, and he hates travelling on them even more, but he’s always appreciated the little microcosms of their ecosystem that blossom in the shallows. Crabs scuttle along barnacles and mollusks attached to the rocks, and little fish quickly dart under cover as he bends at the waist to loom over them. He finds an entire pool full of anemone, their tentacles waving in the gentle lap of water at his feet, and he delights in the annoyed way they retract their tentacles as he prods at them with a stick. </p><p>The wind whips around him, and he clutches his coat tighter to protect from the chill. He looks back over at Aziraphale whose sleeves are rolled up despite the cold, his little pocket of heat protecting him from the worst of it. Infuriating, is what it is, that Aziraphale isn’t suffering the weather of their ill-timed outing like he is. Clearly the only solution is to plant himself squarely in Aziraphale’s lap and shove his cold hands under the angel’s shirt just to hear him squawk.</p><p>Crowley makes his way back to where he left his boots along the shoreline, and the tide suddenly rushes in over his shins. The first thing he feels is the stinging shock of cold, and then an excruciating, burning pain along his feet and legs. He cries out and takes a hurried step back.</p><p>The water recedes and a large, bluish-grey mass catches on his foot, its thin tendrils still stuck to his legs even after it gets ripped back into the sea by the tide. The pain is searing, lines that bite with heat and radiate out until it feels like the entirety of the lower half of his legs are on fire. </p><p>He screams out a few swears as he kicks his feet out, trying to remove the tendrils, but they hold fast. It’s only then that he realizes that Aziraphale has rushed to his side and is holding him firmly at the waist.</p><p>“Crowley, are you all right? What happened?” His voice is frantic and his eyes dart over Crowley’s face with urgency.</p><p>“Bloody <i>jellyfish</i>,” Crowley hisses. “Hit my legs when the waves washed over me.”</p><p>Aziraphale looks down and inhales sharply in sympathy at the welts already blooming red and angry along the demon’s skin.</p><p>“Do you think you can walk?” </p><p>Crowley tries to take a step and cries out again as one of the tendrils has wrapped under his foot, a hot burst of pain radiating almost up through his bones. Aziraphale’s grip tightens at his waist to keep him upright.</p><p>“All right, it’s all right. Let me just--” Aziraphale waves his hand and the pieces of jellyfish stuck to Crowley’s skin disappear. It does nothing to alleviate the pain scorching through him, but at least they won’t be stung again accidentally. “Now.”</p><p>Crowley yelps as Aziraphale scoops him up into his arms in one fluid motion like he weighs nothing, and he swats at Aziraphale’s shoulder a couple of times. “I’m not a fucking invalid!”</p><p>“No, but I’m not going to have you hobbling on your feet up the beach while you complain about it the whole time. Stop squirming.”</p><p>Crowley resists every single instinct he has to center his weight and flop his limbs out to make himself unmanageable to carry. The only thing that stops him is the worry he can feel radiating off of Aziraphale as they make their way back towards the cliff face. And that because he really doesn’t know if he’ll be able to walk, and he’s not going to give Aziraphale the satisfaction.</p><p>Aziraphale carries him past where he’s set up shop on the beach to a patch of the cliffside just beyond. He sets Crowley down carefully, and Crowley slumps against the solid rock wall, leaning as much of his weight on it as possible. Aziraphale squats down to examine the welts, and then frowns up at Crowley.</p><p>“Well, it doesn’t look great.” </p><p>Crowley scoffs. “Oh, thank you very much for your expert opinion. My legs are on fire and they look like I’ve gotten into a fight with a very angry bowl of spaghetti, but now that you’ve said something, yeah, you’re right, doesn’t look great.”</p><p>Aziraphale stands up and levels him with an exasperated look. “You can be extremely annoying, do you know that?”</p><p>“Demon,” he says. He screws his eyes shut behind his sunglasses and clenches his jaw as a new wave of pain hits him.</p><p>Aziraphale’s expression softens, and he starts looking around the area like the solution to their problem will present itself. “I think that’s actually just you and not any part of your demonic nature, but we’ll put a pin in that debate. Now, I can’t heal you - you remember how it went the last time we tried. And I know you aren’t keen on hospitals--”</p><p>“I’m <i>not</i> going to a hospital.”</p><p>“I just said we’re not going to a hospital!” Aziraphale’s voice starts to raise in pitch before he modulates himself again. He worries at his hands before he stills, and Crowley can tell by the far off, concentrated look that he’s come up with an idea.</p><p>“What? What is it?”</p><p>Aziraphale is very pointedly avoiding his gaze, looking down at his hands as he twists his ring around his finger back and forth. </p><p>“Aziraphale, what is it?”</p><p>The angel drops his hands and finally looks back up at Crowley, embarrassment written all over his face. </p><p>“Well, there is a remedy for jellyfish stings that I’ve read about. I’m not sure how much scientific evidence there is, but I’ve definitely come across it several times, and--”</p><p>Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose and tries shifting his weight to alleviate the pain, with no luck. “Angel, I normally adore the way you float and meander in and out of <i>paragraphs</i> of your trains of thought. One of my favorite things about you. But I am in a lot of fucking pain right now, so <i>please</i> just tell me what it is.” </p><p>Aziraphale takes an inhale, like he’s trying to figure out how to deliver bad news. “It requires two people, and the uninjured party would have to… spend a penny, as it were.”</p><p>Crowley looks at him blankly. “What the fuck does that mean? Spend a penny on what? Who even carries coins anymore?”</p><p>Aziraphale looks like he in turn wants to kill Crowley and also like he wants to be struck down himself, and it would normally be funny if Crowley weren’t ten seconds away from miracling his legs off and just living with the consequences. Aziraphale opens his mouth before closing it again.</p><p>“Spit it out!”</p><p>“Urine!” Aziraphale exclaims. “I’d have to--I’d have to urinate on you. It’s supposed to relieve the pain.”</p><p>The way his statement hits Crowley’s brain stops the pain briefly anyway, as if the idea has caused him to be so dumbstruck it’s stopped all neural flow in its tracks. Eventually he comes back online and realizes he’s just been gaping at Aziraphale for the past couple of seconds.</p><p>“You want to piss on me.”</p><p>“<i>Urinate</i>, and it’s not a matter of want, it’s a matter of need.” </p><p>Crowley <i>does</i> laugh at that one. “Oh, all right. Sorry, you <i>need</i> to piss on me, got it.”</p><p>“Could you stop saying that word?”</p><p>“Where did you say you read about this? Dirty Birds Weekly? Chicken Soup for the Piss Lover’s Soul?” </p><p>“It was in a memoir, I think--<i>Crowley</i>! Stop fussing, I don’t see <i>you</i> coming up with anything--”</p><p>“Because this is ridiculous!”</p><p>“It's not any more ridiculous than any other natural human remedy!”</p><p>“Oh yes, notorious for good medical practices, humans. Let’s try leeches next if this doesn't work.”</p><p>Aziraphale throws his hands above his head and his eyes are manic, every cell of his body looking like it’s going to vibrate out of his skin. “Let me take care of you!” he screams shrilly, each syllable increasing in pitch.</p><p>“<i>By pissing on me</i>?!”</p><p>“Yes!” Aziraphale yells, his hands falling to his side in fists. “I can’t--stand seeing you in pain and knowing I can’t do anything about it.”</p><p>Crowley’s teasing, frustrated smile falls. He takes off his sunglasses and shoves them in his coat pocket. Aziraphale takes a breath and continues.</p><p>“You haven’t really left me with any other options, so please. Let me do this for you. If it doesn’t work, then we can just forget it ever happened and we’ll figure something else out. Please.”</p><p>Crowley nods and ducks his head. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m in pain. And also I wasn’t expecting you to literally suggest pissing on me as like, an act of service. So uh. Urinate away.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Aziraphale says quietly. </p><p>“So I’ll just uh.” Crowley shuffles his feet forward gingerly, tucking his legs together and avoiding putting his weight on the large welt on the sole of his right foot. Aziraphale starts unbuttoning his fly and then levels a withering gaze at Crowley.</p><p>“Could you not look?” </p><p>Crowley sucks his teeth but rolls his head back anyway, resting against the cliff face so he’s looking up at the pale grey sky. “Seen your dick a million times.” </p><p>Aziraphale doesn’t dignify this with a response, and Crowley can only see him opening his trousers and shuffling closer out of the corner of his eye. He’s about to get pissed on by an angel. Why hasn’t top forty radio over the last few decades covered that as a topic? He might be more prepared. </p><p>He braces himself and waits for it to happen, but it never does. After a couple of moments he cracks a grin, trying to ignore the throbbing sting of the welts. </p><p>“Feeling a little shy?”</p><p>Aziraphale lets out a huff. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve bothered with any of this. Just trying to make sure I get the bladder and everything right.” </p><p>His voice is a little tight, and he sounds frazzled. Crowley reaches out his arm blindly and ends up knocking his hand into Aziraphale’s ear before he cups his cheek and gives it a quick stroke with his thumb. </p><p>“You’re doing great. Time to get this public indecency on the road.”</p><p>Aziraphale presses into his palm and then makes a noise of triumph. “Aha! Got it. Okay. Well. No coming back from this.”</p><p>Crowley laughs and drops his arm. “Nope. Pretty sure if we were human, we’d have to get married after thi--oh, <i>fuck, Aziraphale</i>.”</p><p>The stream of urine is slow and hesitant at first, but the relief is almost immediate where it hits the red lines on his legs and feet. He slumps a bit against the cliff face, almost euphoric with the endorphin rush as the burning sensation starts to lessen, and he sighs in pleasure. It’s only then that he remembers that Aziraphale is <i>peeing on him</i> and he lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. </p><p>It’s warm - another relief against the chill of the sea, and it runs in trails from where it hits his skin at his knees, soaking a little into the dark  scrunched up denim. Aziraphale seems to have gained some confidence in his bladder control and the stream picks up.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale mutters.</p><p>“Good,” he says honestly. “It’s helping.”</p><p>“Oh, good!” Aziraphale sounds genuinely pleased, and Crowley can imagine the exact beaming smile he’s giving right now. Satan, he’s in love with this ridiculous angel. </p><p>The blinding sharp sting has subsided, but there’s still an aching burn that radiates hot across his legs. He wonders if it would be weird to ask Aziraphale to move closer so he’s aiming more directly for his legs. Although, in for a penny, in for a very profane pound. </p><p>“Could you uh. Step a little closer? Think it would help get more down my legs.”</p><p>“Oh, of course.” Aziraphale shuffles closer and they’re only a foot apart now. The change in distance does the trick, and Crowley can feel the stream run hot and wet down his shins and over the top of his feet. Aziraphale isn’t speaking or touching him, which is honestly probably for the best right now because he’s still having a hard time not overthinking this and thinking about the exact kind of memory modification miracle he’s going to have to use if anybody actually makes their way up the deserted beach and spots them.</p><p>He wonders what it would look like was happening. Well, he knows what it would look like. Two middle-aged gay men enjoying a bit of naughty public watersports. They’re close enough to Brighton that it can’t possibly be the first time it’s happened around here.</p><p>It has to be the endorphins of pain relief clouding his judgement, the absurdity of the situation that makes him look down. It is immediately a mistake.</p><p>Aziraphale stands with his cock in his right hand, directing the flow with a look of concentration that looks neutral, almost <i>dismissive</i>. His flies are spread open, trousers pushed just a little bit down to give him room to perform his task. But more than anything, it’s the sight of Aziraphale’s urine cascading down his legs in wide rivulets that instantly goes to his cock, hot shame and arousal twisting in his gut like a knife. He quickly snaps his eyes back towards the sky and tries to inhale some of the cool salt air to clear his mind. </p><p>It’s just that, <i>of course</i>, he thinks bitterly. There’s only so many times you can joke about a kink before the universe decides to give it to you. Like the world’s dirtiest monkey’s paw, curling its stupid little finger to give you, apparently, a piss kink. The joke, as always, is on him. </p><p>Maybe he doesn't actually like it. Maybe it's just the high of not being in excruciating pain and he has a Pavlovian response to seeing Aziraphale in any state of undress for any reason. </p><p>He glances back down, and no, what's causing his dick to twitch earnestly to life is definitely the fact that Aziraphale is peeing on him. </p><p>It just feels <i>good</i>. The rush of warm liquid running down his legs isn't any different than a nice hot shower at the end of a long day. </p><p>But it is different. It <i>is</i> different, and that's why the sight of it sparks something in him. It's <i>dirty</i>, it's the feeling of being used, <i>claimed</i>. Like he is so wholly owned by Aziraphale that the angel can literally mark him as his in the most degrading way, and Crowley will thank him for it. He <i>wants</i> to thank him for it. </p><p>Christ's sake. Honestly, he's going to go ahead and blame this one on being a demon, rather than a personal character trait. </p><p>How long has Aziraphale been pissing for him to have this much of a crisis?</p><p>He’s on his way to full hardness now, and he needs to get Aziraphale to stop without drawing too much attention to it. He shifts his weight back and forth, assessing the pain at the bottom of his foot to see if maybe he can just bolt, and Aziraphale makes a displeased noise. Crowley looks down to see the angel staring at him with concern. </p><p>“Are you still in much pain? It’s been a couple of minutes, I’d hoped we’d nearly be done and then we could just take care of those welts with some bandages and ointment when we got home.”</p><p>“Uh, no. You're good to--to stop. Well and truly pissed on, I am.”</p><p>Aziraphale nods, and he slows the stream to a halt until it's just dripping onto Crowley’s toes. He breathes a sigh of relief, all mental effort going into willing his unfortunate erection down. Aziraphale takes a step back to look him over, and Crowley tries to shift his hips at the optimal angle to hide the bulge in his jeans. </p><p>Aziraphale smiles warmly, a little sheepishly. “Well, it certainly seems like you're--” He falls silent as his gaze drift’s down Crowley’s body and lands squarely at his cock. Crowley inwardly curses, and slouches further into the wall. </p><p>“Seems like what?” he asks defensively. He knows his ears are reddening. Aziraphale just continues to stare at the bulge in his trousers. It's embarrassing, and unfortunately that only serves to make him harder.</p><p>“What?” he says more forcefully, as if the proverbial piss cat isn't already out of the proverbial piss bag. </p><p>Aziraphale remains silent for a moment more, and Crowley can't read his expression. He starts to reach into his pocket to pull his sunglasses back on, but then Aziraphale’s voice cuts low and clear through the air. </p><p>“Do you like this?”</p><p>Crowley bares his teeth, the shame twisting inside him. “Apparently! Can we just wrap this up so we can never ever speak about it again?”</p><p>He doesn't want to look at Aziraphale, but the angel refuses to move. His fucking dick is still hanging out of his trousers, and his own eyes are glued to Crowley's erection. </p><p>“Angel, seriously--”</p><p>Aziraphale’s gaze snaps up to his and Crowley suddenly feels pinned in place against the cliff face. There's a flash in the angel’s eyes, one he’s seen before, and suddenly he's both desperate to claw his way out of the situation and deeply, deeply excited. </p><p>“No, no don't do that thing, don't indulge this, absolutely do <i>not</i> indulge this one, Aziraphale.” But his voice is quiet and it gets even quieter as Aziraphale steps forward, directly crowding his space, their hips almost flush against each other. Aziraphale leans up close to his ear, his breath hot on Crowley’s cheek, and  the hair at the nape of his neck stands on end. He can hardly breathe, his lungs desperate for a deep gulp of air. </p><p>“Oh, you <i>dirty</i> boy,” Aziraphale breathes directly into Crowley's ear, and Crowley’s whole body shudders as he lets out a whimper . </p><p>There has to be a switch or something, in Aziraphale’s brain, that goes from “dithering and indecisive” to “absolutely filthy and confident” and it seems to flip over every time Crowley is aroused. It's great. It's absolutely fantastic and has really helped Crowley with vocalizing his needs when it comes to Aziraphale. </p><p>But Satan’s fucking tits, it <i>is</i> going to kill him one day. </p><p>He tries to stumble his way into coherency, to protest and beg in turn, to let himself give in to this. But then Aziraphale palms over his cock, quickly bringing it to full hardness. </p><p>“So much teasing before, and yet here you are, hard as anything and I've barely even touched you.” He squeezes Crowley’s shaft through his jeans, and a frisson of arousal skates along his skin. </p><p>“Aziraphale,” he croaks. It's not as if they haven't fucked in public before, but this feels like so much more. Like the heat radiating off his cheeks will let any passersby know why exactly he's so hot and bothered right now. He cranes his neck to look around, and Aziraphale just presses him harder up against the wall. </p><p>“No one’s likely to be out today, probably won't get caught,” Aziraphale says casually. </p><p>“Fuck,” he exhales. Aziraphale just smiles and unbuttons his jeans, sliding his hand in to rub at Crowley more efficiently. </p><p>“What is it that you like about it, Crowley?” His voice is still low and hot against the side of the demon’s face, his hand sure and slow in their strokes. “Is it how it feels? Or how it makes you feel?”</p><p>Aziraphale’s tone is teasing, but there's no doubt that he’s asking a genuine question. Crowley really can't be expected to have a single coherent thought while this is happening, let alone write a thesis on the merits of piss kink. He opens his mouth and a creak of consonants falls out before he clears his throat. “Both, I think,” he manages. </p><p>Aziraphale hums thoughtfully. “I think it's because it's <i>wrong</i>. People have been relieving themselves on each other for pleasure since nearly the Beginning, but it's still so taboo to talk about. So shameful, so humiliating. But I think it's more than just that for you. I think it's about marking you as <i>mine</i>, staking my claim, as it were.”</p><p>His hand massages Crowley slowly, methodically as he speaks, and Crowley’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth parts open. He tilts his head to rest against Aziraphale’s, like the angel’s body is the only thing holding him upright. </p><p>“Quite a degrading thing isn't it?” Aziraphale muses, and then his hand stops. “Would you like more?”</p><p>It's like a bomb goes off in Crowley's mind, obliterating everything that screams at him that he shouldn't want this, that he shouldn't drag Aziraphale into it. The realization of desire was so sudden, and yet he's so desperate for it. </p><p>“Yes,” he moans, as Aziraphale picks his pace up again over his underwear. “Jesus, fuck yes.”</p><p>He feels the curl of Aziraphale’s smile against his cheek and then a quick nip at his earlobe before Aziraphale slips his hand out of Crowley’s trousers and takes half a step back. </p><p>Aziraphale’s cock is barely hard, and that just makes this hotter, that Aziraphale is seemingly so unaffected by it. It makes Crowley want to drop to his knees, but he doesn't. Not this time. </p><p>Aziraphale takes himself in hand and looks at Crowley expectantly. Crowley just nods and then a second later he's hit with a rush of warmth. He looks down, and Aziraphale has the stream aimed straight at his own cock, and he moans at the sight, his cock spilling precome in his briefs, making his rapidly soaking jeans even wetter. </p><p>Fuck, it feels so good. Wet denim never feels good, but this does because it’s so fucking filthy and humiliating and he loves every fucking second of it. </p><p>“Look at you,” Aziraphale practically purrs. “It's obscene, how much you're enjoying this. You should be grateful I've covered the evidence of how wet you already made your briefs yourself. So wet and messy for me.”</p><p>Crowley is so grateful for the rock wall behind him and for Aziraphale standing so close in front of him. His legs feel like they're going to collapse, and he can't stop looking away from where Aziraphale’s penis is practically jammed up against his own, releasing a seemingly never ending rush of liquid all down his front, soaking his clothes and his skin. </p><p>Aziraphale’s cock grows harder, and the stream is less consistent until finally he stops. He curls a broad hand around Crowley's waist possessively, his thumb brushing over the wet fabric of his briefs. He looks back up at Crowley hungrily. </p><p>“Get your cock out.”</p><p>Crowley is quick to comply, shoving his pants and trousers down to his mid-thigh and his cock springs free. Goosebumps break out over his skin as he’s no longer confined to piss-soaked underwear and the chill of the sea breeze blows through the air. Aziraphale steps closer and takes them both in hand, and Crowley's head falls forward onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel’s grip is slow and firm, squeezing their cocks together on every upstroke, and it's not enough for the raw frenzy he feels. </p><p>“Fuck, angel,” he whines into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “Need you--need you to--”</p><p>Aziraphale’s other hand comes up to thread through his hair, loosening what's left of Crowley’s ponytail. </p><p>“Shh, darling. I know what you need. Need it so badly, don't you? So eager to let me know how much you love me, how you're completely mine. Come on, love, take what you need. But I don't want you to come yet, greedy thing. Me first this time.”</p><p>Crowley wraps his arms right around Aziraphale’s torso, pushing them closer, closer together, and his hips snap forward as he fucks Aziraphale’s fist and grinds their cocks together. He’s so close, feeling pulled taut and thin like a rubber band about to snap. </p><p>“‘ziraphale,” he whines. </p><p>Aziraphale pets at him soothingly and then grips his hair tighter to tilt the demon’s ear towards his lips. </p><p>“My sweet, filthy thing. I've already marked you once today, I think I'm going to mark you with my come, too.”</p><p>Crowley squeezes his eyes shut, digs his fingers into Aziraphale’s coat to stop himself from coming immediately. Aziraphale releases the demon’s cock and starts fisting his own quickly. His hurried pants skim hot against Crowley’s ear and then he comes with a soft cry, streaks of come painting Crowley's cock and the front of his jeans white. </p><p>He’s still panting heavy when he takes Crowley in hand again, his grip slicked by his come. He fists him quickly and whispers, “Make me nice and messy to match.” He bites possessively on Crowley’s earlobe and licks the shell of his ear, and then that's it. </p><p>It feels like falling off a cliff the way his stomach swoops and contracts and then his orgasm slams into him. He keens into Aziraphale’s neck, spilling hot and thick over the mess already on the angel’s hands. </p><p>He breathes heavily as he comes down from his high and then tilts back to lean against the wall. His eyes open and Aziraphale is smiling affectionately at him. </p><p>“Are you all right?”</p><p>Crowley nods, still reeling a little from his orgasm. </p><p>Aziraphale’s smile turns wicked. “So should I special order you a copy of Chicken Soup for the Piss Lover’s Soul?” </p><p>Crowley rolls his eyes so hard his head and neck follow. “Oh, piss off--<i>fuck</i>. Damn it.” He points accusingly. “Hey, you did just say ‘piss’ though, so small victories.”</p><p>Aziraphale laughs and pulls them into a quick kiss. When they break apart, he raises his hand. </p><p>“Do you want to stay messy for a bit or shall I clean you up?”</p><p>Crowley wrinkles his nose as he realizes how sticky and uncomfortable he is. “Cooling piss in your jeans is decidedly less pleasant than the event that precipitates it, it turns out.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers and they're both made up, tucked away, and dry again. </p><p>“How are your legs?” </p><p>Crowley glances down to where his jeans are shoved up around his knees. The welts are still present, although not as angrily red as they were before. There's a dull ache radiating through him, but it's nowhere near the pain he felt earlier. </p><p>“They're all right. Don't think I'll be able to actually drive home, but the Bentley will take care of it. Help me up?”</p><p>Aziraphale slips his arm around Crowley’s waist and Crowley slings his arm around the angel’s shoulders as they carefully make their way down to Aziraphale’s beach chair. </p><p>“You know, you're very good at first aid.”</p><p>Aziraphale sniffs. “I am an angel.”</p><p>Crowley flashes him a smile. “Want to play doctor when we get home?”</p>
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